


i'll weigh you down, i'll watch you choke (you look so good in blue)

by decato



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, and i think that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decato/pseuds/decato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Music is everyone’s inner desperation to be heard, the same way authors write stories and the poets write their lines."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll weigh you down, i'll watch you choke (you look so good in blue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squidmemesinc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/gifts).



> Hello to my recipient! Some parts of this were a bit experimental cause I didn't actually know what I was heading for and this fic will probably read more like a fic about Kuroo than anything relationship-related between Oikawa and Kuroo ahahaha. I really just wanted to rewrite this so many times but I figured this was the only way I could go with it for the limited amount of time that I had. I do hope you like it! 
> 
> (I WANT TO WRITE SO MANY THINGS BUT SO LITTLE TIME. CURSE YOU REALITY)

The adrenaline rush. Being partially deaf with that constant ringing in your ears. Sweat. The sound of the crowd, singing along to all the important parts. A mantra for the ego and the soul.

“Music is everyone’s inner desperation to be heard, the same way authors write stories and the poets write their lines,” his dad had told him once, when he was seven, still naive and filled with the innocence of every seven year old kid out there. “And rock is its way of bleeding away all its emotions and leaving nothing more than a trailing blaze of carnage in its wake. Always promise me you’ll love rock, kiddo.”

His father’s hand is rough and big, settling on the top of his head as he ruffles his hair. He doesn’t really answer when he doesn’t even understand what the words mean now, doesn’t know how thick it runs through his own blood while he’s still a kid struggling to get through the first 6 timetables and enjoy all his free time in the playground.

The promise sets itself in motion on his first year in middle school, watching a live band for the first time performing during a talent competition happening nearby his neighbourhood.

It isn’t the best performance that he can remember, with subpar instrumental skills and a decent vocalist. What attracts him in the most are the lyrics, the raw way that they grate at his heart in an almost personal way despite their imperfections and utter depravity.

Someone had once told him that a person is what made an instrument come to life but it all feels like a lie now, a string of words that seemed to carry the music much better than any sort of musical talent that he could even recall, imperfection a strength rather than a weakness.

It takes that one performance for him to seal his fate with the sound of rock and roll, to fall head first into the River Styx without even considering his Achilles heel.

 

\--

Before Kuroo’s mind can drift off to the sound of heavy metal and sleep, he is almost jolted awake by someone recklessly yanking off his earphones and bouncing up and down in the seat besides him.

“I’ve got a new song idea,” Oikawa tells him, even when Kuroo slumps forward and groans as his forehead hits the edge of the table with a resounding thud. It hurts a little but Kuroo has been running on two hours of sleep in the ridiculous summer heat and three cups of school-standard coffee in his system - which is the most atrocious thing to his tastebuds but he can’t care when his caffeine intake has to be met - that the pain is almost somewhat comforting.

Oikawa continues on because he is Oikawa and Kuroo knows that not even his half-dead state will stop the other from making him listen to whatever there is on his mind. “In one of our classes today, the teacher was talking about how suicide and kidnapping cases have been on a rise lately and it suddenly occurred to me that we could make a song about all these incidents.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Kuroo answers almost immediately, like an instinctive response already hardwired into his mind and body.

It isn’t hard to imagine the pout on Oikawa’s face. “But why not? This would allow the public to be more aware of what’s going on recently and don’t people always like music that relates to all the current trends?”

“Because no one cares about stuff like that and the moment we start singing about passing trends, we’ll end up becoming them.”

“But-”

Kuroo lifts his head up before the next protest can pass Oikawa’s lips. “Alright, how about you write the lyrics for a song and we talk about it with the group. If it works and everyone agrees with it then we’ll perform it.”

“Deal!” Oikawa answers, confidence unwavered in a way that almost intimidates Kuroo sometimes. Almost. He still prefers suave confidence over the exuberance that emits from every pore of Oikawa’s being.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that to him. He’ll think you actually mean it,” a calm voice says from behind him as Oikawa runs off to bother Bokuto who has just passed by the front gate, looking as bright-eyed as ever.

“And who says I don’t? I am a very honest person,” Kuroo tells Kenma, who takes a seat beside him, eyes glued to the console in his hand as his fingers furiously tap on keys.

“So you’ll actually let the band play a song written by Oikawa if the whole band agrees to it?”

Kuroo can’t seem to wipe the sly grin off his face that he knows Kenma notices even without looking at him. “That’s only if _everyone_ agrees to it.”

Kenma sighs, a soft sound that most people don’t catch but Kuroo has known the other long enough to be able to pick it up rather than assume it’s just the wind or part of his imagination. “It’s a really bad habit of yours.”

A part of him wants to ask exactly what the bad habit is. Knowing that it was nearly impossible for Oikawa to write lyrics that the whole band would agree on or saying it in the exact way he knew would bring his hopes up only to have them crashing down in the most mediocre path the Universe had to offer?

The silence seems to answers for him when Oikawa and Bokuto make their way towards them and Kenma just seems to slouch even closer to his screen.

 

\--

“This sounds like every pop song that’s playing on the radio right now, especially the repetitive chorus that only consists of just repeating one line,” Tsukishima comments as soon as he’s done reading the sheet of paper in his hands. “Also, I don’t know why I’m even here for this meeting. We’re not even from the same school.”

“Shush, you child,” Bokuto almost coos. “It is stated that in the event of any one besides our lyrist writing lyrics, we must get all members, regardless of those old or new, to give a unanimous vote of approval of whether we should use it or not.”

Tsukishima just rolls his eyes, somewhat resigned. “Fine, then I vote no to this. Now I’m heading back to school before I miss even more classes because of you guys.”

Oikawa attempts to bribe him but even that appears useless when everyone else votes no. Even Kenma can’t bear to give it approval as an honorary member while Bokuto flat out rejects it.

The look of dejection on Oikawa’s face doesn’t move Kuroo, even as he gives the other a sympathetic pat on the back.

“I like your volleyball analogies, though. They were quite witty,” Bokuto tells Oikawa, mood unfazed by his surroundings. “Although, they didn’t seem like the best thing to write in conjunction to talking about rape and kidnapping.”

(Maybe, in honour of Oikawa’s rejection, he’ll write their next song about persistence and dejection that goes beyond the boundaries of just high school love. He’ll write about how the fist that brings the punch is nothing more than the illusion of Hope because the reality is that they’re all victims to it.)

 

\--

Death is the only constant thing in the world. Death and Change.

He has seen Change in the way a family wrecks itself apart from the inside and out, spilling words that pour out like knives and cut at all the nerves at his feet that he can’t tell anymore if he’s moving or if the pain has been so deeply burned into his mind that it can only conjure up the illusion of it.

Or maybe it’s the picture frame that lies right in the middle of the living room, all smiles and laughter that now feel like a lie, a voice in his mind screaming that the truth is the fact that things Change and he has to Change before everything just comes crashing down on him, before he gives in to other pains that will ruin his life much faster than his family will, all from his own hands.

And then the Death comes, just before he decides on the Change. Death comes in a drunken stupor and too many pills before familiar faces pull him away and into a different reality. Death paints his mind red every night with the hot sting of a hand against his cheek and the taste of bitterness on his tongue.

He takes a pen out and he writes all about the Death and Change that he can’t run away from.

 

\--

Their first gig had started off as a joke, Bokuto picking at 'what ifs' and involving both Oikawa and Kuroo because there was never a time where he had an idea and didn't decide to involve them whether good or bad.

(His last idea had involved planting a porn virus into the school's database and almost getting them suspended with a possible expulsion.)

"Come on, Kuroo! I know you're wicked mad with the bass!" Bokuto had pleaded then, while Kuroo was busy with English Literature homework. Damn Shakespearean English.

"How would you know? You've never heard me play."

"Kenma was nice enough to show me some of your middle school practice videos during our spare time."

Oikawa, of course, was much easier to persuade. In fact, Bokuto hardly needed to make an effort when it involved increasing the pretty boy's fan base to a ridiculous degree.

They end up in some random bar that Bokuto seems familiar enough with, with Kuroo on the bass, Bokuto on drums, and Oikawa running as their guitarist and vocalist.

The way Oikawa’s voice resounds through the microphone, surprisingly talented despite being rough around the edges, makes Kuroo wish that they had done this way sooner.

It’s a performance that lasts as long as five songs in before they get replaced by the next band but the words come tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can stop them.

“We’re making this an actual band.”

And the rest, as they say with a lack of non-cliche words to use, is history.

 

\--

The panic attacks are always swift and sudden, like a punch in the gut in the middle of a crowded room with no exits.

It’s a pathetic attempt to lean himself against the side of the wall in the hallway but it’s the only thing Kuroo can think of when his fingers freeze up on him and the oxygen isn’t going fast enough into his lungs.

At the back of his mind, Kuroo is somewhat grateful that their gig has just ended and there isn’t anyone to see him like this.

“Yo, Kuroo!”

Fate wasn’t going to be that kind to him, apparently. Then again, Fate always had a way of kicking him in the face when he was already lying on the curb.

The words can’t seem to formulate fast enough in his mouth when Oikawa asks if he’s alright.

“It’s nothing I haven’t handled before,” Kuroo almost about stutters out. It’s ridiculously out of character that he wonders if he can punch the other hard enough in the head later to knock this moment out of his memory.

Oikawa just stands there silently while he takes a few deep breaths to compose himself, lungs finally working after several minutes.

“Somehow, you look like what most people would call an attractive mess. Or would it be attractive breakdown? This is the stuff that most girls fawn over, right?”

The words that come out from his mouth sound like the biggest lie he's ever heard. An attractive breakdown was something that existed in the confinements of the imagination, far away from reality.

And that is truly what Kuroo feels, like a mess. An emotionally drained, rebellious teenage mess.

"For someone with a face like yours, you really are terrible with your words," Kuroo says with an attempt of a grin on his face. It doesn't feel like much but he hopes that it's good enough to fool Oikawa and the look of ridiculously obvious confidence on his face.

"It's a winning trait of mine, according to Iwaizumi. I like to think that it's something positive.”

Positive. Iwaizumi probably made the comment with enough sarcasm for everyone to hear a mile away except for Oikawa himself. It’s a trait they both have that is innately different no matter how you look at it.

Maybe it’s a superiority complex that kicks in, some sort of gear that clicks in his head when he grabs at Oikawa’s collar and presses his lips harshly against the other’s.

It isn’t the smartest move to make when his teeth clash against Oikawa’s almost painfully but there isn’t a part of him that can care anymore, mouth warm, wet and enticing beneath his own as he boldly sticks his tongue in between the gaps of their mouths.

Romance novels are utterly wrong, Kuroo thinks. There will never be a time where sticking your tongue in someone else’s mouth will come as natural to you and it makes Kuroo somewhat grateful when Oikawa responds back with the same.

The hands that come around his side is almost as welcoming as the physical response they cause.

“I’ve, um, never really done anything like this before,” Oikawa comments against his lips, breathing a little harsh. “I mean, I’ve done kissing before but this definitely feels like it’s going further than kissing at the moment.”

The words sound so weird coming from him almost as much as the fact that Kuroo realises that Oikawa is actually referring to his very much intact virginity despite the number of girls that seemed to throw themselves at him almost daily.

“We’re not having sex,” Kuroo says bluntly and somehow Oikawa’s face drops.

“Eh, we’re not?”

Kuroo doesn’t know if Oikawa’s being serious or not but the heat of the moment had already died the moment the other had finished uttering those words. “Nope, we’re not. So don’t try to cash in your V-card to the first person who attempts to kiss you, please. It’s a little distressing to think you want to do it with me after a panic attack.”

Oikawa tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to analyse Kuroo. There’s a hopeful look in his expression. “You kissed me, though. I mean, like, legit kissed me.”

“Do you know how much that line is already a put off from ever trying to even kiss you again?” Kuroo groans out. “Please don’t tell me this is the first time someone has properly made out with you.”

The seconds Oikawa takes to contemplate answering just makes Kuroo raise his hand up to his face to stop him. “It’s alright, that pretty much answers it. And no, we’re still definitely not doing it.”

“Then how about a song?” Oikawa asks, eyes bright.

Kuroo wonders how much resignation is painted on his face right now. “No.”

 

\--

“I don’t know what to say about these lyrics, Kuroo. They seem almost… romantic.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Me writing about people fucking each other in an endless relationship of hate and envy is romantic?”

Bokuto shrugs. “Somewhat, I guess. They sound like something romantic when it’s written from someone like _you_.”

The most uncharacteristic sound is heard from the corner of the room, almost hidden behind instruments and sound systems.

Kenma snickers.

**Author's Note:**

> i am trash oh god please forgive me. I WANT TO REWRITE EVERYTHING.


End file.
